


If The Shoe Fits...

by Alltheroads



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Also plot, Dudes in Distress, Fairy Tales, Fluff, Happily Ever Afters, How can he not be a princess with that face, M/M, Mystery, SO MUCH FLUFF, Some sensitive issues
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-02
Updated: 2012-12-01
Packaged: 2017-11-20 01:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/579788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alltheroads/pseuds/Alltheroads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a town where men are forced to play the part of the classic Disney princess, Dean just can't seem to keep his hands off of spindles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If The Shoe Fits...

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Supernatural fic. No beta, but if you'd like to beta for the rest of the chapters, I'm up for it. 
> 
> Sort of read like an episode, but with longer commercial breaks.

A young man named James Weiss sits at home, watching crap television. He flicks through the channels one by one, and can't find anything to amuse himself with. With a sigh, he runs a hand through the darkest set of locks in town.

For a couple of days now, he's been cooped up in this house, and while he appreciates the company, he's getting bored. There's nothing for him to do in this house. He goes over all the chores he's already done in his head. The cooking, the cleaning, and even some knitting. Yeah, he's comfortable enough in his masculinity to knit, what of it?

No one is home at the moment, and that makes everything even more boring. Maybe he's acting like a child, but screw it. He gets up off the couch, ready to go outside. It was said to him that he should never, never leave without supervision, but he can take care of himself.

Just as his hand touches the doorknob, there's a knock at the door.

James swallows, and checks the peephole. It's some old lady, and he supposes that maybe, that should make him feel better, but it doesn't. Something is off about this. And yet...

He opens the door, and the old lady smiles, all yellow teeth and underlying malice.

“Uh...” James says intelligently.

“Hello my dearie. How are you today?” Her voice grated the air, and although James was usually a polite guy, even he couldn't help but flinch at the tired sound.

“Good, I guess. Are you lost? We're kinda out in the middle of the woods. How did you even find this cabin, I mean-”

“Oh, no no no. I'm not lost at all. You see, I used to sell apples on this very trail. And I was feeling rather nostalgic,” The basket she has been carrying is covered by a checkered cloth. She pulls it off to reveal some of the best looking apples James had ever seen in his entire life. His mouth began to water just at the sight of them. She plucks the shiniest one out of the basket, and holds it up. Sunlight gleams off of it.

Jesus.

“I was wondering if you would like to try a free sample.”

James licks his plump, red lips (they are almost too girly for his face, but it suits him). “I really shouldn't,” He says, mostly to himself. But it's an old lady. She can't be working for his dad or anything, that's ludicrous.

“Oh, but I insist! If you don't like it, I swear I will never come by again.” Instead of finding her voice off, he finds it almost... hypnotizing.

Without another word, he takes the apple in his hand. It's cool, and has the perfect texture. The old lady smiles again, urging him on by waving her wrinkled, gnarled hands. He can't resist it any longer. He presses the apple to his lips, then takes a huge bite out of it.

For one, perfect moment, the juices spill out onto his tongue. There is so much flavor, and he thinks, how can I not buy another one? But then the apple gets caught in his throat. He starts to choke, and leans against the door. Tears spring to his eyes.

He can't breathe, and he's panicking a little. James presses a fair white hand to his lips and when he pulls it back, it's painted with the harsh thick liquid of his own blood. He collapses to his knees, and he grips at the old lady's cloak, trying to ask for help.

But he doesn't find his voice. He never will find his voice. The world goes black just as he hears the old lady's screeching laughter pierce his ears.

The old lady blinks, and suddenly, her eyes are as dark as the fallen man's hair.

Finally.

-

“Okay, listen to this. Two mysterious deaths in Massachusetts, in your old run of the mill town. None of the victims seem to be related at all, except for the fact that they are both men from the ages of upper twenties to mid-thirties. The most recent, James Weiss, has been dead for over a week now,” Sam rattles off as he reads from his laptop.

“So?” Dean asks, packing up the rest of his clothes. It was just another night in another shitty motel room. Routine stuff.

“His body isn't decaying. It's still warm, like he's just asleep,”

“No, the real mystery is: why haven't they put the poor sucker six feet under, already?”

Sam sighs, and closes his laptop. He turns around in his chair, and faces Dean. Oh, boy. He knows that face.

“Look. You're the one who wants to keep hunting while we figure out how to close the gates of hell. I found a case, I thought you might wanna work the job to tide us over another few days,” And he has a point, Dean knows. Sam always has a point, that smart mother fucker.

“Yeah, yeah. Warm dead bodies. Is it both of 'em? Dead but not dead?” He complies, because he always does, and always will. See that ring on Sam's finger? It's really just Dean wrapped around it.

“Yeah. Two dead, but warm bodies. I'm guessing that it's some... weird witchcraft sacrifice,” Sam says, scratching at the back of his head. It was obvious he's never heard of it before. “We won't know until we get there, though. It's not that long of a trip, should take about half the day.”

Not that long of a trip sounds nice, actually. Dean didn't actually sleep all that well, so he's eager to just hop back into bed.

“Okay, get a move on, then. I'm already finished packing!” He complains, slumping down in the chair opposite his brother. Sam scowls, but doesn't say anything. Instead, he listens, and finishes stuffing all his clothes into his duffel bag.

-

The town sorta looks like it was outta a fairy tale. People were smiling at each other, waving, even greeting each other, like everyone knew everyone. The buildings had the old feel too 'em, by the design. All red cobblestone and flowers on the window sill.

It was way too nice to not be creepy.

“The hell?” Dean says as he drives down a brick road. He turns his head to glare at Sam who can only shrug. “Dude, there is no way in hell anything bad happens here. Ever. The worst thing that could possibly happen is a cat getting stuck in a tree, and I am not climbing that tree.”

Sam sighs. “Warm dead bodies isn't exactly a cat in a tree.”

Dean is about to vomit when he sees the motel they are staying at. It's way too nice, and there aren't any hookers in sight. Their motel is called the Three Fairies.

As Dean parks the car he smiles and shakes his head. “This couldn't possibly get any gayer,” He turns the ignition off. “Three Fairies? Are you serious? This is the only motel in town?” Before his brother can answer, he gets out of the car, and walks inside.

It's a warm motel, not something he's used to. The carpet is a forest green with a gold pattern on it. In the corner, there is a rocking chair by a fire place, rocking a little as if someone had been sitting there moments before. The fire is crackling softly, and if he didn't feel like he was in a fairy tale before, he certainly does now.

There are three, kind little old ladies dressed in red, blue, and green. When they look up at him simultaneously, they all smile warmly, like they know him. Creepy.

“Hello!” The one in blue says. She walks to the front of the desk, nearly pushing the other ladies aside. “Can I help you, dear?”

“Yeah, I got a reservation under-” He stops, and has a double take. In the one dark spot of the motel, a room in the back, there is a machine- a spindle, he thinks it's called. He's never seen one before. Maybe it's because this town is so old fashioned that it's stationed here. There's one crazy moment where he starts leaning towards that direction, something in his gut telling him to go, go, go.

“Sir?”

Dean blinks and looks back at the old lady, then back at the spindle. Okay, that was weird. He must have gotten less sleep last night than he thought. “Yeah, sorry. I got a reservation under Rose?” He digs into his pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“Oh, yes! We've been expecting you.” The old lady smiles again. “We've just finished baking some cookies, would you like some?” The one in green produces a steaming plate of chocolate chip cookies that makes Dean drool just looking at it.

How the hell does he say no to that?

As he takes a cookie off the plate, he can't help but glance to that dark back room. The spindle is gone, and the room is lighter than it was before. Seriously, what the hell is up with this town? Hopefully, he thinks, the weirdness has disappeared along with that freaky wooden spindle.

The old ladies hand him a heart shaped key, and that's when Dean knows for sure that this is going to be a long case. 

 


End file.
